


Longest Goodbye

by Death_inspiresme



Series: Starker prompts [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Man, Sick Character, Tumblr Prompt, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_inspiresme/pseuds/Death_inspiresme
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: I need something sad. Tony is older and him and Pete has been together for a few years now, Tony slowly starts showing signs of Alzheimer’s (let’s say he’s in his late 50’s, early 60’s) and it starts off small like forgetting where he put the remote or where he is when he wakes up. Then it starts getting worse like forgetting Peter’s name or forgetting who he was and it finally reaches the point where Tony doesn’t even remember what he looks like or that he’s even married to Peter. Whoop.





	Longest Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short paragraph for a tumblr prompt, but I had a depressive episode and now I'm left with a page full of utter shit. Oh wells.  
> I know nothing of the disease, and didn't really bother with research on it because I'm a shitty writer (is that new information?) so if I got anything wrong, my sincere apologies. Do feel free to correct me in the comments.

 

  They say time is a silent killer, that it creeps up so unsuspecting, until the devastating effects of it come to light.

 

  There is no denying it-- Tony is getting old. Yes, he's Tony Stark, the enigmatic brilliant inventor who became so much more than a weapons producer, who made himself more than the title of 'Howard Stark's son'. But he's human, and time waits for no one. Peter's attentive eyes don't miss the first beginnings of grey hair sprouting from Tony's scalp, highlighting sections of his normally chocolate-brown curls. They were barely noticeable at first, only visible when Peter's curled up on the bed beside the older man, chin nestled on Tony's steadily rising and falling chest, moonlight spilling though the fluttering curtains; but as time grew on Tony's hair grew predominantly silver-white, the scratchy stubble of his goatee becoming a pepper grey. _(Peter finds out only much later that Tony's been greying since he hit his forties, but has always been careful in dyeing his hair monthly to hide his ageing.)_ The crinkles of Tony's smiling eyes grew deeper, the stress lines on his face becoming harder. The seemingly-constant dark bags under his eyes gave him a tired, distinguished look. _(Tony would lightly tease that they were the result the many countless nights spent worrying over the young crime-fighting teen. The boy would press butterfly kisses to his eyes in apology.)_

  But most of all, along with his health, Tony's memory deteriorated. He's at the deeper end of fifty, and still his ingenuity never catches a break; he's still actively inventing, creating pieces that still cease to shock and impress the world. His brilliant mind is seemingly still at its peak-- so it's a shock for the both of them when the older man starts displaying signs of dementia. Simple, unforgettable events like forgetting where Tony had placed his wrench, when it was on the worktable as usual; or important information slipping from his mind, showing up late to business meetings not-on-purpose. The rest of the Avengers lose their patience with his absent-mindedness fairly quickly, rolling their eyes or greeting him with pursed lips as he misses yet another mission debrief.

 

  Peter slips out of a particularly stressful briefing-- where everyone had been shooting reproachful glances at Tony's- empty- assigned seat for the entirety of it-- to retreat to the lab, where he finds Tony bent over the most recent project. He looks up with bleary eyes as the boy enters, a small smile on his tired face that Peter easily returns; it quickly slips, though, as soon as he notices how Peter is still in his spider suit.

  "Oh god. I missed it _again_ , didn't I," Tony states rather than questions, mouth set into a frown as Peter crosses over to him and gently brushes back his sweat-matted hair.

  "It was nothing important anyways," Peter attempts to reassure, but pauses as he takes in the pained look in the other's eyes. "What? What is it?"

  A shaky hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and he instinctively leans into the warm touch, gaze never wavering. He watches the Adam's apple in Tony's throat bob, catches the flash of desperation across the man's face, hears the shuddering intake of breath; then Tony retreats back behind sealed-off walls yet again. "You can tell me," Peter pleads then, his own hand flying up to keep Tony's arm there. _"Please, Tony."_

 

  It's a disease. Early Onset Alzheimer's, is what's typed across the medical report. The bold words blur across the page, shaky and unclear, until Peter realises that he's trembling all over and hot tears are welling up in his eyes. He blinks them away furiously, suppressing the shuddering gasps threatening to escape his chest, until a teardrop slips traitiorously down his cheek and lands with a splat on the paper. Then he's being wrapped up in strong familiar arms, held tight and close as Tony steadies him, answering his gaspy sobs with soft murmurs.

  It's not even Peter who's sick.

  It's majorly _unfair_. They say life's unfair, but there's always varying degrees, isn't there? From missing a bus to not winning the lottery to seeing your parents leave one night and saying you'll see them tomorrow, and then you wake up the next day and they're gone and you never really got to say goodbye.

  Tony doesn't deserve this. Hasn't he suffered enough?

  Hasn't Peter suffered enough?

 

  
  The disease consumes Tony painfully slow, every moment torturous. Every symptom on the doctor's checklist displays itself, one by one. Memory loss. Language problems. Changes in personality. Difficulty organising and expressing thoughts. This last one understandably hits home the hardest to the inventor; sometimes Tony will pause in his work momentarily, a far-off look in his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration, until he'll fling his worktools to the ground and let out a scream of frustration.

  "It's not working," Tony snarls, sinking heavy onto the chair, burying his calloused hands into the grey mess of his hair. "It's not- fuck, I can't get it to work!"

  "It's okay. It's alright, Tony."

  "I can't do it. _Can't_. Don't know how,  I don't know."

  "That's fine, you'll get it soon enough. You always do," Peter pleads, holding the man's hands in his and running his thumb along the lines of his wrist in what he hopes are placating motions. He sees more than feels the muscles in Tony's back and arms clench and shudder, and braces himself just in time for the man's outburst.

  "Well, not anymore, can I?" Tony spits, practically shoving him off, eyes alight with fire, replacing the usual dull shadow of his pupils nowadays. "Because I'm fucking, _fucking_ sick and this _disease_ is slowly eating up my brain, and soon I'll be worthless," Tony yells. "Because if I can't invent things then what good am I? I'll be **_nothing_**!"

  Peter steps back, tripping over his own feet, tears once again blurring his vision and Tony's twisted, almost unrecognizable face; he turns and runs away from him, crying and stumbling to his room, burying his face into the pillows and screaming out all of the painful emotions swelling deep in him, uncontrollable sobs so loud and violent he thinks his chest's about to explode.

 

  
  There's treatments, of course, cures and claims of all sorts to rid the human brain of this disease; empty promises that Peter can't help but believe everytime, if only to experience the blinding exhilaration of hope, for something to temporarily relieve the pressure unfurling in his chest. And then they go to the most expensive medical experts money can buy, only for the doctors and professionals to stare across examination tables with pity in their eyes as they tell Peter that there's no real cure, only the slowing of the diseases' inevitable progression.

  
  We'll try their best, they all promise grimly, every single time-- more for Peter's sake rather than Tony's now.

 

  
  _"What the fuck?"_ Tony exclaims, and Peter immediately drops the bottle of pills in his hands to rush to the kitchen, heart slamming erratically against his ribcage, bracing himself for the worst. He's greeted with the sight of Tony standing amongst the shattered remnants of a mug, fists clenched by his side, jaw set as he stares right at a terrified-looking Steve. His eyes dart around wildly before landing on Peter, and he looks a breath short of hyperventilating. "Dear," Peter tries consoling, but he's cut off by Tony.

  "What are you doing here? Why, why-" Tony's face is ashen as he stares at the Captain, clearly gripped by blind panic. "Who...?"

  "That's Steve," Peter steps over to him carefully so as not to spook the man, his movements slow and in Tony's direct line of gaze. Gently he reaches out to lay a light hand on Tony's arm, ignoring the stab of hurt he feels when Tony yanks away from his grip. "It's Captain America. Steve, he's staying over this week."

  A scoff. "Captain America is dead."

  Peter flicks a pointed gaze to Steve, who lowers his head and slips away silently, leaving the two of them in the kitchen. Tony's more confused than anything now, all the anger gone. He looks tired. When Peter hesitantly brushes a shard of glass off Tony's wrist he doesn't flinch away this time.

  "He's an Avenger, remember?" He says softly. "We all are. Well, were, I guess. At one point in time. You, too."

  Tony's expression doesn't change. "I'm not anything like him."

  "Well, you're Iron Man."

  There's a pregnant pause, and a spike of blind fear shoots through Peter. No, no... Tony frowns, then looks up at him. Confused chocolate-brown eyes meet his, and Peter's worst suspicions are confirmed. "I don't know... I'm not. That. I'm-- uh, I don't know," Tony repeats, defeated. He looks apologetic as he stares down at Peter with soft eyes, as though he's aware that something's wrong but not really sure what exactly it is. The lump in Peter's throat grows larger, threatening to choke him; he has to say _something_.

  "You're Tony Stark," Peter states quietly at last, and once he starts he can't stop, the words falling from his mouth in an endless flow. "You're in inventor. You're a hero. You're an engineer. You're Iron Man, an Avenger. You're smart-- absolutely brilliant, you're a genius and yeah you can get a little bit crappy at times but you're still the _sweetest_ , most caring person I've ever met, and you're--"

  "...Your husband," Tony interjects quietly then, startling the younger man to a stop with just those two soft words. He meets Tony's uncertain gaze. "I mean, I'm your- like. We're married, right?" he says, hesitant, almost shyly; and Peter's smiling, his lips stretching so wide it hurts and his heart's aflutter in his stomach-- he feels the exact same emotion he did all those years ago, when they shared their vows. He's crying again, he notes absently, tears slipping and falling onto his quivering lips. Nodding wordlessly, he sees Tony's face break into the same dazzling smile he's so maddeningly in love with.

  "I'm married to _you?_ Damn, almost can't believe it. You're a real catch." He whistles, then reaches up to gently brush the hot wet tears from Peter's face. His eyes are positively sparkling now. "I'm so lucky," Tony murmurs, and Peter laughs joyously before kissing his husband slow and deep-- and just for that moment, the world was okay again; at that very moment, Peter realises that they'll be okay.

 

  
  It's been eight years since the diagnosis; eight years since Peter began this long goodbye. The pills do their job, they drag out the process of Tony's illness. Some days the man will be fine, his old usual self; he'll talk about the team, or go on about thermonuclear astrophysics, the both of them sitting across a table and bantering with each other-- days when Peter will capture every single moment into his memory. And then there are other days, where Tony will refuse to talk to him, facing the wall with a blank unreadable stare, and any sort of pleading Peter will try are futile. There are days when he'll lash out, unable to control his emotions as he punches the wall repeatedly, leaving his knuckles bloody; when he'll look at Peter as though... as though _he doesn't remember_ _him_. Which, no matter how painful that fact is to accept, is inevitable. Tony barely remembers who he is anymore. Why would he remember Peter? 

  Peter comes home late from work one day  to find Tony not in bed, instead tinkering away at something in their workshop. He looks calm, at ease; and Peter almost doesn't want to disturb him. With an affectionate roll of his eyes, he goes up to the man, so preoccupied with his work he doesn't notice Peter coming over. 

  "What're you making?" Tony jumps at his voice, very nearly falling out of his seat, and huffs in response to Peter's soft giggle. 

  "How many times have I told you to not creep up on your old man?" He chastises not unkindly, shooting a playful glare at Peter. "You're gonna give me a cardiac arrest one day, sweetheart."

   "Sorry. Can I sit?" Tony scoots over so that Peter can slide into the bench beside him, catching his curious gaze at the messy papers; he slides them closer to him, offering a blueprint. "See, it's for your suit. Adjustments.... new upgrades, and all that."

  Peter scans over the designs, leaning into the warmth of Tony's side, then glances up at him. "Just like old times, huh?" he carefully examines Tony's scribbled notes at the side and adds softly, "these are great. The improvements are amazing, Tony. I didn't even know we needed them."

  Tony shrugs good naturedly. "Guess I still have it in me."

  "You certainly do."

  Tony smiles tiredly in response, sighing as Peter pecks him lightly on the lips before nuzzling into his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. A hand reaches up to gently smooth his curls back, just like all those years ago when they'll cuddle on the couch and Peter will fall asleep to the soft caress of Tony's familiar touch.

  "I love you, Tony," he whispers. _I'm not ready to say goodbye,_ he adds silently to himself. "I just... no matter what happens, I'll still be here. For you." Peter swallows, chokes out the next words; his voice cracks. "Don't-- don't forget me. Okay?"

   He feels Tony's chest fall, along with a sigh that ruffles his hair. He blinks up through teary eyes to meet Tony's gaze. His next words are matter on fact. "How can I forget you, when you gave me so much to remember?"

   And then Tony pulls him closer, pressing a simple kiss to his forehead. 

 

  "I love you, Peter Parker. Always have, always will."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was okay! Not really used to writing angst when all my other works are smutty porn.  
> I take requests and answer prompts on my tumblr, and spam my blog with shitposts so. Ya know, if that's your sort of thing drop by sometime @im-a-goner--foryou


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